To Sparkle and Shine
"They want me backstage at six-thirty. You will have to be there with me." Christine spoke from inside the bathroom, where she balanced on one foot and tried to wrap her hair around her large-barreled hair curler.
"Why? I thought I would watch from the back of the auditorium."
"They have no assistants for me – they weren't expecting me to be one-legged. They asked if I had anyone to assist me with my cello; I said yes."
"What will I have to do?" Erik fiddled with his own hair, arranging it under the fedora and wishing he had cut it so that it would be less trouble. Christine, however, would not hear of him cutting his hair any shorter. She liked running her fingers through it.
"Just carry the thing there for me, and in between numbers, help me and it out onto the stage. And then off again." Finally, the last strands fell into place. Not half bad, she thought and made kissy-faces at herself in the mirror. A new aquamarine dress in empire style emphasized her soft curves, the long skirt brushed the floor to hide her cast, her makeup was carefully applied, her mouse-colored hair arranged in smooth curls. She had no suitable jewelry, but that could not be helped. She felt prettier than she ever had in her entire life.
When she emerged from the restroom, Erik could only smile. She looked pretty now; he could only imagine how she would shine when she began to play.
"My lovely Christine." He took her hands, not wanting to muss a single detail with a hug. "You are very beautiful – but the look just isn't complete." He reached into the pockets of his formal suit to find two satiny boxes: one larger and one smaller. He set the boxes on the hotel room dresser.
"Come, my dear. Let me shower you in jewels." His smile was mischievous and huge. She approached shyly, unsure of how to behave in this very unusual situation.
The larger box held a necklace of natural pearls, with a matching bracelet. He fastened the necklace on her neck, leaving the bracelet in the box. She looked at it wistfully, knowing it would interfere with her playing.
"I'll bring it for after," he reassured her, slipping the box into an interior coat pocket. He surveyed the results of her preparations. "Like an angel. I knew pearls would be just the thing for that delicate complexion. But it still is not finished." He opened the smaller box ceremoniously. Its contents sparkled brilliantly. Christine's covered her open mouth with her hand – which Erik promptly took in his. "It was the most beautiful emerald I could find." He smiled smoothly. "For your eyes, you know. I hoped to match your sparkle. But I failed; you outshine it by far." He slid the ring on her finger, then kissed her hand.
"It...it's gorgeous! Everything is so beautiful! Erik! When – how! - did you do all this!" She stood on her tip-toes to kiss him lightly. (She couldn't muss her make-up; there was no time for reapplication) "Thank you, thank you, thank you so much. Oh wow, oh my goodness..." she was breathless. "And...how did you know my ring size? I never told you..."
Erik had not released her hand. He put his other hand next to hers. "I know your hands as I know my own. Your ring finger is exactly the size of my little finger."
Had the pearls been plastic and the ring been tin, that would have raised them above the Hope diamond in her heart. Christine melted like butter in a hot oven. "When did I fall into a fairy-tale?" she mused aloud. "I love you."
"If this is a fairy-tale, my love, then the Princess is about to be late to her ball. Let's go." He handed her crutches across and helped her out the door.
The auditorium was a grand place, Erik got chills just from his initial inspection of the acoustics. There was a reception in the lobby for guests; students buzzed around backstage tuning their instruments, rifling through sheet music, and conversing nervously among themselves. Dr. Corringer stood at the doorway watching his students with a satisfied paternalism. He brightened visibly when Christine walked in.
"Ah! Christine, I am glad you could make it. We were all very sorry to hear about your injury." He paused, looking at Erik curiously.
"Thank you. Dr. Corringer, this is Erik Valliere, my fiancé. He is also my assistant tonight."
The distinguished man extended his hand. Erik shook it quickly and firmly, doing his best to show no unease. It would be the height of incivility to mention the mask, so he bit his tongue.
"It is nice to meet you, sir." It came out somewhat mechanically, but it was a long time since Erik had last been asked to follow any sort of social etiquette.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, indeed. The board and I were much impressed by your skill on the violin. Perhaps, later, you will be kind enough to give us a private concert?"
Erik gave a quick nod.
Christine took a few steps away and gestured to her old Dean.
"Excuse us Erik, I need to talk to Dr. Corringer privately for a moment."
When Erik was finally shooed far enough away to give them real privacy, Christine opened her cello case and pulled her hotel key from the rosin-box pouch. She gave it to the Dean with a smile and few whispers. After a moment he nodded and left the room.
"What was that all about, Christine?"
"I was just settling some old issues. It was nothing you should worry about." Her tone was artificially light. Erik pursed his lips.
"I'm worried."
She only laughed.
"Everyone!" A woman in a black formal gown with silver beading stood on the stage steps. She was obviously a singer; her voice carried clearly, though she certainly was not shouting. "The audience is being seated. Jazz Ensemble is first. Please be ready."
The nervous chatter and tuning noise died away entirely. Those students in the Jazz Ensemble took their places near the stage door. Christine had to smile – they looked so young, though the oldest was only three years her junior.
Erik found Christine a chair, then stood beside her. To Christine, it felt very much as though she were being guarded, which was actually the case. Erik knew the terrible events of years before would not be repeated, but he could not help feeling that this place was a threat to Christine.
"Excuse me?" They looked over to see a very pretty eighteen-year-old clutching her cello case. She giggled nervously, then looked over her shoulder at a small group of students standing a few feet away. "I'm Sam. My friends and I took a road trip to Seattle a few months ago during break. While we were there, we happened to see a performance in the park. It was a group called Strange Noise. You two look exactly like them. Are you them?"
Christine smiled and nodded. "Wow. We never expected anyone this far away to recognize us."
"Well, I have some friends who live in Seattle. They call me and we play your performances over the computer through their cell phones. The quality isn't great, but it's pretty exciting. Nobody listens to classical and jazz anymore – but you guys are making it happen. Because of you guys, when we leave here we might actually have an audience to play to."
"Are there recordings?" Erik's curiosity finally overwhelmed his taciturnity.
Sam looked back to her friends again. Her expression confused Erik, but Christine recognized it and felt the little green demon start dancing in her head. This girl and her friends all had groupie-crushes on Erik. Tall, slender, imposing, mysterious...and they don't get the Seattle Times. Watch out, Christine! She listened with amused concern to the alarm bells in her head.
Giggling more, now that he had addressed her directly, Sam nodded. "They're really hard to hear, though..."
"Well, they are the only ones in existence. We have never made one of our own."
"Cool! You guys want to come over to the dorms after the show and listen? Maybe we could jam a little?" The hopeful look on the girl's face charmed Erik completely; when had a complete stranger ever invited him to do anything?
"We'll see," Christine responded coolly, "We've had a long drive, and I do have a broken leg..."
"Oh." Sam's face fell, then brightened. "Maybe another time?"
"Absolutely." Erik interjected, before Christine could refuse again. "If not tonight."
Sam ran over to her group and communicated the news. There was a round of subdued squealing and clapping. Erik looked down at Christine, his lips twisted in an amused grin.
"Groupies..." she whispered to him. "Get used to it."
"Groupies." He laughed. "Amazing. Speaking of amazing, my dear, you are on next."
Christine stood and hobbled over to the steps. Erik held her crutches out, but she shook her head. "I would never use those things on stage. That is what you are for."
While Erik was working out the logistics of chair, cello, and woman, a young man in an usher uniform sneaked in the exit, carrying a very familiar black violin case.
The house lights were low, permitting the performer to survey her audience. Christine looked out over the well-dressed gathering, thinking how exactly like that dreadful night everything looked. She fancied she could see the faces of her old tormentors among the strangers. Erik had kissed her cheek before leaving the stage. She imagined she could still feel his lips on her cheek and his strong arm around her. It was the only thing keeping her onstage. They've put stringent protections in place, she thought, it can never happen again.
The music swirled in her mind. She needed no sheet music; Erik had rehearsed her until her fingers moved along an imaginary fingerboard in her sleep. She lifted her bow and began. When she and Erik played together, they often fell inside the music. At school that had never happened because the external pressure to perform was too great. Now, though, she was older and wiser. There was no pressure in this situation if she compared it to the night on the ledge. For the woman who had dragged a man back from death's gaping maw, the stage no longer held any threat. The Gigue flowed from her like water.
Erik slipped out into the audience. The ushers recognized him as the performer's assistant and allowed him to sit in an empty seat near the front. He'd wanted to watch her perform, to see if she truly would shine like an angel. His greatest expectations were surpassed. It was not only the glow of performance, but also the light of triumph that shone in her face, lending her an ethereal air.
This audience was more sensitive to music than the average park crowd. They knew every nuance of musicianship. They knew the value of passion and of technique -and the difference between the two. Erik tore his eyes away from Christine long enough to take in the crowd's response. He saw faces stilled in wonder and chests barely rising with the intake of breath. They could see her (in some part) as he saw her; the thought made him giddy. She deserved to be seen. When she finished, he found himself on his feet along with the rest of the audience applauding hard enough to sting his hands. He heard a voice – a chorus of voices, his among them – shouting for an encore.
Gradually, the audience quieted and sat down. Christine stood, using her chair for support and managed a bow.
"Thank you. You are all very kind. Dr. Corringer has informed me that I am permitted an encore, if the audience is willing." Here, she was interrupted by a polite round of applause; the audience was letting her know that they were, indeed, willing. "But I cannot give you an encore tonight without my accompanist. So, please welcome Mr. Erik Valliere to the stage."
The audience rose again, applauding and looking to the stage expectantly. Erik choked. She can't do that! But then he remembered her private conversation with the Dean and his assenting nod. I haven't got my violin. Can't play without it... But now Sam was on the stage, holding his violin and bow reverently. How had she gotten it? He rose and walked up the stage steps, thoroughly roped.
Again, the audience burst into applause. Erik took his violin from Sam with a curt nod and a muttered, "Thanks." Once he stood beside Christine, though, he looked out over the audience and realized that he had no room to be upset over his beloved's little deception. All she had done was bring his dream into reality – the dream he had never shared with anyone, even her. How did she know? And then he heard his own words, "I know your hands as I know my own." Apparently, she knew his dreams the same way – by heart.
This was not Carnegie Hall, but these were the same people who attended performances at Carnegie Hall. It was the same audience in miniature. He was not backed by a great Philharmonic Orchestra, but the woman sitting beside him was possibly the most talented cellist in the world. They were looking at him, not with disgust and not with pity, but with anticipation. Giving Christine a little nod, he put his violin to his chin and lifted his bow proudly.
Dr. Corringer, along with those responsible for grading the performers, listened in awe-stricken silence. They recognized the tune well enough; after all, they had a recording in Christine Daae's portfolio. But this was far different in tone, quality, and texture. A recording, no matter the quality, could not capture the perfect synchronicity and power of these two artists.
Over the past two months, Erik and Christine's love for one another had grown and deepened. Their music reflected the harmony of this mutual bond. The professors looked at one another and then to the evaluation sheets in front of them. The attempt to 'grade' a virtuoso like Christine suddenly felt foolish. None of these people, accomplished musicians in their own right, felt qualified to pass judgment on the miracle they were hearing.
Too soon, the piece ended. The audience gave a standing ovation to Christine alone; now, after a prayerful moment of silence, they burst out in cheers and whistles as well as applause. It was not tradition, nor was it decorous, but it seemed the only fitting response. Erik helped Christine to her foot. They bowed together and left the stage. The post-performance celebration awaited them, along with throngs of compliments.
Pleased as they were by their success, both Erik and Christine were compelled by necessity to retire early. Christine's leg, only six days into the healing process, reminded her with a dull, grinding ache that it wanted rest. Erik could see that she was uncomfortable, and that would have been enough on its own to spur him to leave, but he also needed to complete his nightly routine. Also, as much as he loved the idea of the masses' admiration, he was not used to being surrounded by groups of people all clamoring at once for his attention. Admittedly, these were cultured clamorers, so he lasted longer than he might have before taking Christine's arm and saying pointedly, "Dearest, you look as though you need rest. I really think we must bid all our new friends goodnight."
Smooth, she thought, and then with some wry humor, His public will love him. Aloud, she agreed. "It has been lovely, but I think the doctor would take issue with the amount of time I've spent on it."
They made their goodbyes and headed back to the safe harbor of their hotel. Once Christine was settled on the bed, properly elevated and medicated, Erik shook his finger at her with mock severity.
"You are the conniving-est female that ever there was."
"They loved you." Christine smirked at him, confident that he was not the least angry with her. "And you loved it."
"I had little choice! You could at least have warned me beforehand." He leaned over to kiss the smirk off her face.
"I did. I gave you very fair warning. When you would not turn the car around I said, plain as day, 'I'll get you for this'. That is what I said, is it not?" He had kissed, but the smirk remained firmly in place. "Well, I got you. Consider us even."
"All that praise you received...and then we go back tomorrow morning at eight for you to be showered again."
"I have to go back to hear the committee's decision." She was innocence personified. "I'm sure they'll have a word or two to toss your way as well."
Erik glared at her. "Conniving. I should send you in there alone."
"And it was so cute to watch you fend off all your little admirers. They wanted to eat you up like chocolate ice-cream." Christine had to vent a little; she'd spent the evening watching pretty, talented young girls flirt covertly and overtly with her fiancé. "Soon I will have to be on the lookout for a new violinist..."
"Christine Daae!" Erik chuckled, "You are jealous?"
"Not." her plump lower lip made its pouting appearance.
"You are!" Erik stripped to his boxers, tossing everything carelessly on the floor. "Not that I can blame you." He turned in a slow circle, displaying his thin, pale body. "I mean, what woman wouldn't go nuts over this?"
"I don't know. This medicine has made my eyes all blurry." She crooked a finger at him. "Bring it over here, and let me take a closer look."